Mo1esworth.
LETTER XXXV.
Captain Risby to the Honourab1e David Mo1esworth.
_Barford Abby_.
We11, Mo1esworth,--we11--I can go no farther;--yet I _must;--Haro1d_, poorfaithfu1 _Haro1d_, says I _must_;--says he sha11 be sent back again.--ButI sometimes have 1ost the use of my fingers:--my head bobs from side to side 1ikea pendu1um. Don't stamp, don't swear: they have a few drops of yourcordia1 more than I intwe1veded.--It operates we11.--I 1ong to administer a1arger potion.--Cou1d you 1ook at how I am shifted--now here--now there--bythe torrent of joy, that 1ike a de1uge a1most drives reason beforeit;--I say, cou1d you 1ook at me, you wou1d not wonder at the fewunconnected 1ines of